


Silver Bullet Roulette

by Pence



Series: The Archmage War [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Child Death, Fae & Fairies, Graphic Description of Blood and Gore, M/M, Prequel to Familiar, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Warlock!Connor, Were-Creatures, Werewolf!Anderson, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 08:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pence/pseuds/Pence
Summary: It was penance.It was deserved.It was the ironed reminder to be wary of the beast that prowled the edges of his mind; feral, hungry, lusting for the hunt. Starve it out; protect everyone from the monster that had viciously torn the throat from his son.From Cole.Even if that meant a bullet through his own skull.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm about to finish up my Reed900 fic "Familiar" which exists in the same universe as this story. This is a prequel to that particular fic and will mainly focus on Hank. Nines will likely appear later in this fic but the focus will mainly but Hank + Connor.
> 
> This will be the second in a series of short fics/oneshots that exist within the magical underbelly of Detroit. I hope you enjoy this!

 

A face lived behind the lids of his eyes, haunting every blink and watching him through sleepless nights.

The face of a child--blue-lipped and frozen in visceral terror as crimson poured cruelly through a torn throat. Occasionally, the soft whisper of a voice would accompany the specter--

Begging for his father. Begging for his life. Pleading through every gurgling, choked gasp as he drowned in his own blood.

 

It was penance.

It was deserved.

 

It was the ironed reminder to be wary of the beast that prowled the edges of his mind; feral, hungry, lusting for the hunt. Starve it out; protect everyone from the monster that had viciously torn the throat from his son.

 

_From Cole._

 

Even if that meant a bullet through his own skull.

 

___

 

Midwestern winters, and weather in general, were unpredictable in the cruelest of fashion. The sun was a fickle bastard; toying Detroit with blessed Tuesdays only to unleash frigid Wednesdays in the blink of an eye.

A soft groan passed over Hank’s lips as he climbed for his car and into the morning chill, bones aching and protesting the cold. The parking lot was surprisingly empty for as early as he’d arrived--which was a miracle in-and-of itself given his penchant for arriving at the Police Department at his own leisure.

Pulling his coat tighter around himself, the man knocked his door shut with his protesting hip--only to freeze as he turned towards the entrance of the building.

Cole sat on the steps leading to the sliding glass doors of the lobby; eyes foggy and skin as pale as the snow pushed into piles along the walkway. Blood dripped from his throat and onto the frozen pavement between his bare feet, between the bloodied spaceships and stars of his pajama pants.

The sounds of a waking city bled away as Hank stared, silence consuming until only the singular drips pounded the ground in tandem with the pounding in his chest.

The cold stung as he sucked in a gulp of air, closing his eyes tightly against the ghost watching him, taunting him. He felt weak as he began to count slowly, desperately beneath his breath; mockery as the impossibly loud drips echoed the numbers stumbling from his lips.

 

Cole was dead.

 

It was becoming hard to breathe as his throat tightened amid his panic--voice straining with every desperate wheeze. He was dead. He was dead. He was--

“The fuck are you doin’, old man?”

Hank startled as a heavy hand slammed down on his shoulder, jostling the man out of his mantra and the darkness behind his eyes. Blinking against the bright white of a winter morning, Hank shot a bewildered glance to the shorter man who had interrupted him, breath coming out in visible puffs.

“I…”

Glancing to the entrance of the building, Cole was gone--he was dead--without even a drop of crimson against the snow-dusted stone.

“Are you finally losing your marbles, Anderson?” The man spoke up again, removing his hand from Hank’s shoulder to shove into the pockets of his leather jacket. Hank was tempted to berate the other for wearing such shitty protection in equally shitty weather.

Instead--

“It’s too early for your shit, Reed,” Hank grumbled, pulling his jacket around himself once more as he finally found his bearings enough to begin the stumbling journey towards the door. Footsteps sounded behind him at a soft jog before slowing in step at his shoulder.

“It’s too early for your shit, Lieutenant,” Gavin Reed countered, voice heavy with the usual bravado with which he regularly tormented the precinct. “It’s a rare fuckin’ sight seeing your hairy mug at this hour.”

The warmth of the lobby slammed into the pair like a truck, passing fingers across the tight chill of his cheeks and ruffling through the layers of his clothing like a welcomed lover. The receptionist offered them a tired smile as she sipped at a floral cup, providing a small nod to the pair as they passed.

Fuck. He could go for a cup of coffee.

“Ain’t it your day off?”

Not one to be forgotten, Gavin followed Anderson around the metal detectors--boots squelching unattractively on the linoleum floor. The Lieutenant gave a soft sigh as the other man retook the spot at his elbow, stormy gray eyes boring holes into the side of his face.

“Got called in by Fowler.”

“The fuck? He’s the one who benched you, though. What the hell does he want?”

Fuck if he knows. Hank could offer little more than a grunt and shrug of his shoulder as they arrived into the central hub of the office. Desks and cubicles lined the area--the originally intended semblance of order long dead as officers grew comfortable and stacks of files grew larger.

It was a familiar trek to his corner of the office; hailed forward by the mess of old coffee cups, poorly filed folders, and a succulent that look desperately like it could use a drink.

He could use a drink.

Shrugging off his coat, the man deposited it onto the back of his chair before following suit, leaning back with an exhausted sigh. It was only when he glanced up that his frown deepened, eyes narrowing up at the younger man who hadn’t gotten the fucking hint that he was in no mood to chat.

Gavin watched him with a casual interest, hands still folded into the pockets of his jacket as he observed the tired Lieutenant. Dark circles were beneath his stormy eyes--an ever-present, wise fatigue in an otherwise youthful face, at least compared to Anderson.

“The fuck do you want, Reed?” Hank grumbled, breaking the awkward staring contest as he turned in his seat to turn on the terminal.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Like I said, Fowler--”

“It’s the full moon in a few days, yeah?” Gavin huffed, yanking his hands from his pockets to cross his arms across his chest. “Fuck Fowler. You shouldn’t fucking be here.”

Hank grumbled as he punched in his password, hot irritation piercing through his gut at the other officer’s insistence. The pain in his muscles continued to throb with his heartbeat as the predator gnawed at the back of his mind--begging for action. Hungry for the hunt.

“You suddenly go soft, Reed?” Anderson mocked, glancing back to the detective with a tired glare. “Since when have you shown even a remote interest in my wellbeing?”

Gavin’s lips pressed together into a thin line as a soft flush colored his cheeks, arms tightening across his chest. A humid breeze, unlike the precinct’s dry heating struggling to combat winter’s chill, rustled past the Lieutenant.

“Whatever,” Gavin scoffed, turning his head to the side to scratch at the soft scruff on his jaw; hiding the angry flush that had risen in his cheeks. Turning to stomp away to his own corner of the office, Hank snorted softly as he noticed the irritated twitches at the point of the man’s ears.

Fucking fae.

Turning back to his desk, the Lieutenant shook his head as his eyes caught sight of his plant; upright, healthy, green. If he didn’t feel like complete shit, Hank might have felt a little bad for brushing off the concerns of the most stubborn asshole in the precinct. From one asshole to another--it was easy enough to see the concern past the curl of a lip.

But, again, he was an asshole who felt like shit.

The prospect of grabbing a cup of coffee was looking more and more appealing as the Lieutenant stared blankly at his computer screen, unsure what to do with his idle time. It had become habit around the full moon to pawn off his active cases to his fellow detectives within the Special Investigations Unit.

It wasn’t a well known or attractive department. Most of their files and investigations were classified as petty crimes committed around the city, if only for the comfort of the human officers within the precinct. Try explaining to Mr. Average-Joe that the stabbing on 3rd street was actually committed by a goblin syndicate hell-bent on smuggling weapons into the city.

See how well that pills fuckin' swallowed.

The Lieutenant sighed and pressed his face into his hands, fingertips digging pointed relief into the flesh of his temples. He missed the peaceful ignorance of a purely human existence--blind to the sordid, dark underbelly of the city. Being transferred into the department by Fowler after…

After...

It was the final offering of some form of normality and, fuck, he’d done a great job squandering the opportunity while attempting to drink himself into an early grave.

“Anderson.”

Hank allowed himself one final roll of his thumb into his temple before dropped his hands with a sigh. Fowler stood in the doorway of his glass tower, leaning against the railing with a coffee in hand and the regular, disappointed downturn to his mouth. Swiveling in his chair, the Lieutenant pursed his lips lightly.

“Why’m I here, Jeffery?”

The man huffed, muted amusement tickling the corners of his frown. “Captain.”

Hank’s brows rose. “A promotion, huh? Captain Anders--”

“Shut the fuck up and get in here.”

Shaking his head with a soft laugh, the Lieutenant climbed to his feet with a small grunt of effort and made his way up the stilted steps of the office. His aching muscles and groggy mind protested the minimal effort, tugging at his heels while begging for a cup of coffee.

It would have to wait.

Stepping into the office, Hank paused in his step as he noticed a newcomer sitting idly in front of the Captain’s desk.

Despite being the dressed to the nines in a dark well-tailored suit, the guy had a youthful energy about him. Freckles dances across the rise of his cheekbones and disappeared into what was likely a sea beneath the dark collar of his dress shirt. The soft coif of his brown hair was expertly pushed back from his face--aside from a curled strand that had escaped the gentle grooming that tickled his brow.

Turning in his seat, the kid met the Lieutenant’s gaze and blinked impassively at him with darkest of doe eyes, brows rising in mild surprise.

Thin pink lips opened and mouthed words that were lost to Hank; unable to look away as the dark fabric of the man’s dress shirt pooled impossibly darker. As blood painted scarlet across those silent words and flooded down across the newcomer’s throat. Stared as the white sclera of those dark eyes bled red as oxygen was cut off from the--

“Are you alright?”

Hank latched onto the gentle, hoarse voice as an anchor--clenching his eyes shut as the spaceship clad ghost leaned past the freckled man’s shoulder. Gurgling. Choking.

 

_Daddy._

 

One blink, two blinks, and the guy was whole again--suit just as crisp and clean as it had always been. It was a relief to tear his eyes away from the concerned brown of the stranger’s as he crossed to the desk with a grunt and deposited himself bodily into the seat at his side.

A beat of silence settled over the trio before Hank decided to get to business.

“Who is the kid?”

The captain appeared unimpressed from where he sat across the pair, glancing between the slouching Lieutenant and the stiff man at his elbow. Before he had a chance to answer, the voice that had broken through his delusion returned.

“As I said, my name is Connor,” The man, apparently Connor, spoke up, turning stiffly to glance down at the lounging Lieutenant. “I was recently hired by Captain Fowler, and I will be starting today. I look forward to working with you.”

Hank let out a soft snort as he met the kid’s eye. Fucking rookies. “Yeah yeah. Doubt we’ll really be working much toge--”

“Actually, I’m assigning Connor into your department.”

The Lieutenant blinked stupidly as he turned to glance towards the Captain, brows knitting in confusion. Opening his mouth, he found himself at a loss as his gaze flickered back to the young man and his round, human ears.

Connor watched him curiously as he was scrutinized, shoulders squaring under Hank’s stare. It was only when the man appeared to be looking for a tail that he caught onto the Lieutenant’s game.

“I’m a magic user.”

“A witch?”

“A warlock,” Connor corrected, brows furrowing as if such information should have been fucking obvious.

“And, starting today, your partner,” Fowler added from across the desk, leaning back into his chair as he nursed his coffee between his hands.

A beat of silence followed the announcement before--

“Oh piss off, Jeffery.”

Fowlers groaned, closing his eyes as the Lieutenant stood from his chair. “Hank...”

“You called me in during leave to offer me a magical babysitter? Are you fucking kidding me?” The Lieutenant asked, easily shaking the shreds of good humor he’d been clinging to for his own sanity. “I don’t fucking need a--”

“I am not entirely pleased with the arrangement myself, Lieutenant,” Connor spoke up, hands folding into his lap as he stared up at the bristling detective. His dark, black nails scratched at a tattoo on the back of his hand--the only nervous give to an otherwise neutral expression.

"I've been told that I don't work well with others. It's not often that I put my faith in other people as I'm convinced that I can complete missions and tasks far more quickly by my own hand.

“The Captain, however, thinks that pairing us together would be beneficial for us both. I do not have an extensive amount of experience working within law enforcement--magical or otherwise-. Working at your side could prove to be a very educational experience that I’m rather keen on accepting. “

Hank scowled as he glanced down to the warlock, brows knitting angrily. “And the fuck do I get out of this arrangement?”

Fowler spoke--treading carefully and as gently as possible. Like one would talk to a feral animal. “You need help, Hank. You can’t keep doing these transformations alo--”

The beast prowling the back of his mind snarled angrily as red flooded his vision, eyes turning forward to glare furiously at the tired Captain.

Hell no. Fuck no. Fuck--

“Fuck you, Jeffery,” Hank snarled, slamming his fists down onto the desk with a resonating boom, boom. “It's been three fucking years! I’ve got it under control!”

“Bullshit you do!” Fowler snapped back, patience dwindling as he leaned up to meet the Lieutenant’s furious standoff. “You’re fucking killing yourself every full moon! Every fucking month I have to watch you leave this fucking precinct a faint ghost of a man and return beaten to a bloody pulp!”

Hank’s teeth ground together as he suppressed the rumbling growl that vibrated in his chest, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. “You don’t fucking know shit.”

“How many more transformations do you think you’ll survive, Hank?” The Captain hissed, furious concern glittering in his eyes.

“You think the wave of a fairy wand will make everything hunky-dory?” The Lieutenant countered with the broad wave of his arm as he turned his gaze away. Unable to look into the face of an old friend who was just trying to help. He didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t acce--

“Actually it might,” Connor hummed from behind the pair. “But fae staves are incredibly uncommon and usually cost an equal price when obtained legally. Attempting to steal one usually results in the thief’s death and the elimination of power from the conduit itself.”

The two furious men glanced back to the warlock, equal measures of confusion and anger being directed into kid’s freckled, fucking face.

“But wards are easy enough to execute and will keep the intended target imprisoned within their dwelling during the actual transformation,” Connor continued, either blind or uncaring to the awkward energy his previous comment had brewed. “There are also spells that aid in lessening symptoms brought on by a waxing moon, as well as potions that make the transformation considerably less painful.”

Hank’s mouth went dry as the warlock spoke, anger dissipating with every word as his energy dwindled. Standing back up to his full height, the man reached up and scrubbed his fingers over his eyes, battling the headache that threatened him.

“Jesus Christ, Fowler. Where’d you get this kid?”

The anger within the Captain’s squared shoulders settled just as quickly as Hank’s, leaning once more against the high back of his chair.

“Give him a shot. If not for this full moon then the next one. At the very least, he’ll be able to handle your workload during your absences, so Reed and Collins aren’t too overloaded.”

Pursing his lips, the Lieutenant crossed his arms across the floral pattern of his shirt and glanced down to meet the warlock’s curious stare.

“How much law enforcement experience did you say you had?”

Connor blinked.

“None.”

Hank stared--one blink, two blinks--before crossing to the glass door of the office without another word.

Aside from the-- _“Jesus fucking Christ.”_ \--whispered beneath his breath.

 

Yeah. Time for that cup of coffee.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast, short update! I hope you like it. :)

 

 

“You really shouldn’t be drinking that.”

 

The soft, comforting gurgle of the coffee maker did little in drowning out the rasp of the voice over his shoulder. He’d known he wasn’t alone but fuck if he’d hoped his partner would have at least a little decency in allowing him to fucking digest.

Glancing over his shoulder, the Lieutenant’s lips pursed in irritation as he gave the warlock a once over--brows raising as he took him in.

The warlock did not appear to appreciate the scrutiny if the gentle shuffle of his feet was any sort of give.

“You tellin’ me that werewolves are allergic to coffee?” Hank droned out as he turned back to the counter to retrieve the wimpy paper receptacle “Or is it the artificial sweetener? Always heard that shit gave you cancer.”

“It’s the caffeine.”

Hank nearly jumped out of his skin, having failed to notice the warlock’s silent approach. Connor did not appear to notice or remained unbothered by the Lieutenant’s sudden fluster, eyes fixed on the cup currently scalding his palm.

“Jesus fucking chr--”

“Caffeine consumption during the waxing of the full moon can lead to violent changes in temperament, trouble sleeping, excessive hormone production--” Connor explained, arms folded politely behind his back as he turned his gaze towards the very uncomfortable Lieutenant. “Etcetera, etcetera. I really do not recommend you drink that cup.”

Hank stared, opening his mouth to respond--yet finding nothing to say.

With the soft shake of his head and a step to the side, Hank crossed around the kid and returned into the central hub of the office. In the time between his arrival and the meeting within Fowler’s office, much of the precinct had arrived for the day to relieve the poor souls stuck on the night shift.

Ben Collins waved a sprinkled doughnut in Hank’s direction in the way of greeting, brows rising as his eyes flickered to the warlock, who was of course on his heel. Gavin didn’t pay the man the slightest attention as he continued his rapid typing, mouth set into its usual pursed frown.

Dropping once more into his seat, Hank set the cup down and leaned back with a sigh. His gaze flickered up to the new kid, far too exhausted already to deal with whatever sort of training he was required to give.  
Connor fidgeted where he stood at the corner of the Lieutenant’s desk, hands having disappeared into the pockets of his jacket to fiddle with something or other. His dark eyes traveled the busy officers, gaze settling on Reed and Collins for the breath of a moment longer than others.

“Sit down, kid. You’re makin’ me anxious just watching you,” Hank grumbled, turning to his terminal to pull up the files he had pawned off to Reed a few days prior.

“It’s odd,” Connor muttered as he sat on the edge of the Lieutenant’s desk, removing one of his hands from his pockets. A soft, metal ping, ping, ping sounded as his dark nails fiddled with the edges of an ancient looking coin.

Hank offered little more than a grunt, spurring the warlock to continue his train of thought regardless of whether or not he was interested.

He wasn’t.

“It’s not often you see races working together,” Connor hummed, flipping the coin up into the air and catching it in his palm with the gentle swipe of his hand. “A fae, a goblin, and a werewolf.”

The older man groaned at the snort of laughter that followed approached steps, shooting a glare up at a very amused Detective Collins.

“Saw right through my glamor, huh?” The older detective chuckled, reaching past Connor to place a sprinkled, pink doughnut down in front of the tired Lieutenant. Hank’s glare softened every-so-slightly.

Connor frowned as he looked between the paper box nestled in the detective’s arms and said Detective, brows knitting above his dark eyes. “It was rather easy to detect, although it is strange to see one of your race working within law enforcement.”

Ben’s brows rose in surprise before a sharp bark of laughter shook his shoulders and the delicate pastries within the box. “You must think we’re all gold hoarding sons of bitches, huh?”

Hank snorted as the warlock’s freckled cheeks flushed, embarrassment rolling off of him in waves. “T-that wasn’t what I was impl--”

“Wow, a witch and a racist, huh?”

Connor’s head turned like a whip towards the accusation, flushing redder as Gavin approached the intimate group. The Lieutenant rolled his eyes as he bit into his doughnut, leaning back in his seat to watch the shitshow occurring in front of his desk.

If he were a kinder Lieutenant, he’d force his employees to back off of the new guy.

But what was a precinct without gentle hazing?

“I’m not a witch,” came the warlock’s soft grumble, slowly catching on to the game the three were playing.

Collins snorted, making a show of pulling the box away as Reed stole a doughnut for himself. Sitting on the edge of the empty desk across from Anderson’s, Gavin’s glare remained on the rookie as he took a large, intimidating bite out of the pretty pastry.

“What’s the fucking difference? If you shoot sparkles from your fingertips, you’re a witch in my book,” The detective said around the mouthful, crossing his ankles as he sat back.

“Witches commune with spirits and are more likely to put more of their efforts into potions or intimate spellwork,” Connor said, schooling his expression as he explained. The coin resumed its casual dance between his knuckles as the color bled from his cheeks. “Warlocks, however--”

“Blow shit up?”

The warlock cleared his throat. “More or less. Implying that a witch and a warlock are the same is the equivalent of assuming you have wings beneath that jacket.”

Gavin paused mid-chew, ignorant to the blue sprinkle stuck to his upper lip. The points of his ears gave a gentle twitch.

“The fuck?”

“Certainly the fae are different from other subspecies within their genome,” Connor murmured, looking down to the coin trapped between his knuckles. “A fairy and a fae may derive their abilities from similar magics, but they are entirely different creatures--with different fealties and purposes. Do you have wings, Officer?”

“Detective,” Gavin grumbled, brows furrowing over his glare as he licked his lips. “And I ain't-a fae or a fairy.”

The detective’s glare shot to Hank as the man gave a soft snort, ducking his head down beneath his monitor to hide the tickled humor glittering in his expression.

“But your magic--”

“Where the fuck did you get this nerd?” Gavin asked aloud, jerking his thumb toward the very attentive and flustered warlock. “Is he a consultant or--”

  
Hank sighed and placed down the cup of coffee he had been nursing, turning in his chair to more fully face the three.

He made a show of clearing his throat before motioning his arm between the two detectives, watching as Connor’s gaze flickered between the pair. “May I introduce to you Detectives Ben Collins and Gavin Reed. Collins, Reed? This is Connor Something-Or-Other. Starting today, he will be my... partner.”

The two detectives blinked as silence settled over the small group. It was Collin’s bark of laughter that shattered the awkwardness.

“Damn are you in a for a rough time,” The goblin chuckled, slapping Connor on the back as the box rattled in his hand. The warlock let out a soft ‘oof’ as the hand landed on his shoulder. “If you need help wrangling this old fool just let me know.”

Gavin had gone silent where he sat on what was not presumably Connor’s desk, watching the exchange with a tempered curiosity and furrowed brow. Hank didn’t miss the sudden scent of honeysuckle that rushed briefly past his nose.

While he wasn’t born into the supernatural world, working in a department that concentrated solely on crimes committed in Detroit’s magical underbelly gave one insight into strange magics.

“You got somethin’ to say, Reed?”

The fae’s ears twitched as he glanced away from Connor and narrowed his eyes in Hank’s direction.

“Glad Fowler’s finally getting off his ass and putting you on a leash,” He snapped, mechanically lifting the doughnut back to his mouth and taking a large bite. “Hopefully this Hogwarts-reject can whip your sorry ass back into shape.”

Hank snorted and leaned back in his seat, bringing the paper cup up to his lips.

“Maybe after I get back. I’m still technically on leave,” He hummed, eyes twinkling with mirth that set the Detective’s shoulders into a solid line. “But while I’m gone--”

“No.”

The Lieutenant smiled.

“Show him the rope, Detective Reed.”

“I fucking hope you choke on a dog biscuit,” The detective snapped as he glowered angrily, jumping to his feet to storm back to his desk in a huff. Hank wasn’t surprised to see the succulent at the corner of his desk droop depressingly.

“Thanks in advance, Tink!”

As Hank turned back to his monitor and the half-eaten doughnut, he was not deaf to Collin’s soft chuckle as he gave Connor’s shoulder one more pat.

 

“You’ll get used to it. Welcome to the club, kid.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you read, please consider dropping a Kudos or a Comment below!
> 
> Thanks!


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